


Hung

by Quarkitty



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Bondage, Hate Sex, M/M, Rope Bondage, Sort of non-con?, upside down blowjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:51:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5872801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarkitty/pseuds/Quarkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris wants something from Anders, and the curious mage can't resist to see what it is. After a drunk kiss and getting all tied up, is Anders in over his head? One-shot, first Fenders fic. Let the elf boy fuck the mage, Amen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hung

 If you ask the bar crowd why it’s called The Hanged Man, one of two answers are expected:

  1. “They”, the powers that be, used to hang criminals from their toes outside this spot.
  2. A poorly worded joke about cock length. “Because I’m the hung man, sweetheart.”



Anders usually went for the latter, followed by a wink and a swig of something strong and bitter. He always had a flirty streak, even from a young age in the Circle where relationships were not so much frowned upon as forbidden. A sly smile and a lingering touch used to get him nearly anything. Free drinks, a fire resistant ring, another go at The Pearl, anything.

It wasn’t until the elf that he felt powerless.

Fenris tightened the rope around Anders’ wrists. He pulled a little too tight, grunting. Anders winced. He still wasn’t sure why Fenris was doing this, whether it was sex or revenge.  He was drunk, that much was known. The empty wine bottle and breath stinking of spices was enough to tell him that. After drinking, Fenris’ gait wasn’t as smooth. He moved a little slower, a little jerkier. He grabbed Anders by the face, his sharp nails digging into the skin.

Fenris spat.

“Filthy mage,” he hissed through his teeth. The spit dripped down Anders’ face. He held back a million retorts and half of his manifesto. Any other situation he would have leapt on the chance to take the elf down a peg or two. Arrogant little prick, Anders thought to himself, reminding himself of all the reasons he shouldn’t be in Fenris’ mansion. The place itself was filthy, he lived in squalor and barely cleaned up after himself. Anders wasn’t surprised. All the airs of finesse and culture were false walls and he could see so easily through the bullshit.

“You were the one who told Hawke that you had business with me. I expected to come here to a sword drawn out and a bottle of poison.” Anders suppressed a grin. Instead, he was met with a heavy, forced kiss.

Fenris touched Anders’ jawline, feeling the scratchy stubble. Without warning he pulled back his hand and gave Anders a quick slap. His neck arched and head knocked backwards, Anders scanned the ceiling. A bit of metal glinted from above.

Tutting to himself, Fenris moved a table over and stood on top of it to reach a hook in the ceiling. He pulled it down, standing on his tiptoes and stretching.

“Didn’t think this through, did you? Should have asked someone of proper height to get that for you before you tied me up.” Anders couldn’t resist, though he knew his other cheek would soon turn red from the sass.

“Shut up.” Fenris grumbled. “I…I’ve never…”

“Never done this before? Couldn’t have guessed that. How long did it take to jury-rig that one? Did you have Hawke come and help you—“ Anders stopped mid-sentence, the glare from Fenris was warning enough. Fenris pulled the metal hook down and leapt off the table, kicking it away. It looked sturdy enough to hold a heavy weight, it was no plaything.

Turning around, Fenris picked up more lengths of rope. He looked as if he took no pleasure from the task, that it was just another bit of work to do. No smile, no glint in his eye, just a stern serious slit in his mouth. Carefully, he unlaced Anders’ boots and tossed them aside. Anders held back another remark to be careful with them, but he caught himself. Usually during sex he smart mouthed and loved the flirtatious anger that came along with it, but here with Fenris it felt forbidden to joke. For the first time in the mansion, Anders realized he was afraid. Never in their time together had Fenris ever been kind to him. He only tolerated the mage when Hawke would tell the two of them to shut up, or they were both laughing at one of Varric’s outlandish stories. Even in battle, Anders rarely healed Fenris. He only helped when the elf was in serious mortal danger, mostly to keep Hawke happy. (Matter of fact, if he was being honest, keeping Hawke happy was 90% of why he did anything lately.) But kindness? Never. Let alone flirting.

So he was left to wonder why Fenris had him here, tied up on the mansion floor, surely about to have sex with someone who undeniably wished him dead.

His pulse quickened, eyes darting around the mansion. It was well into nighttime, nothing but a tiny sliver of moon came through the curtains. A few candles were burning in sconces, half way down the wick. The only person who knew he was there was _Hawke_.

Fenris grabbed Anders by his thigh and tugged at his pants. Anders started to sweat, fighting with himself. He wanted it, that much was undeniable. But like this? His cheeks reddened as Fenris pulled down his trousers, all of him suddenly on display.

The elf finally smiled. His nose crinkled, eyebrows furrowed together. He was enjoying himself. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a piece of red cloth. Anders tried to get a good look before the cloth was flung over his eyes. A black crest was embroidered at the edge. Unmistakable, he would know that mark anywhere. Two great birds, talons stretched and touching.

Hawke.

“Where is Hawke, why did you send them to get me?” Anders tried to control his shouting. The wrap around his eyes was tight. He took a whiff, searching for the musky amber scent that Hawke always smelled like.

Fenris half chuckled, half grunted. “So concerned about Hawke all of a sudden.” He lifted Anders’ body up and kissed him, tongue poking slightly inward and teasing. Fenris grabbed more of the rope and went to work across Ander’s thighs and chests. His knots were all calculated, he furrowed his brow in deep concentration, making knot after knot. Anders could not see but he felt the tautness across him. Whatever it was Fenris was doing, it was something planned and practiced. His hands slid across Anders’ chest, nimble and fast.

Anders heard the metallic _shing_ of the hook and gasped, though he hated himself for giving away a bit of surprise. Before he could tell what was happening, Fenris pushed his body forward and attached the hook to rope around his calves. His heart rattled against his chest, his cock growing harder and harder despite himself.

“Can mages fly, I’ve wondered?” Fenris rattled the chain, enjoying the sound of it. Anders wriggled, slightly panicked.

“You’re going to…lift me up on that thing?” His voice cracked.

“Hawke was right, you aren’t completely stupid. I assume you’ve seen The Hanged Man?”

Anders swallowed his surprise. Not being able to see Fenris gave the elf an upper hand that he wasn’t comfortable with. Was his face red? Could Fenris tell his cock was already wet?

“Upside down.” Anders said without a waver in his voice.

And with that Fenris pulled on the chain like a pulley, hoisting Anders legs first, up into the air. His blonde hair fell across his face, pieces falling out of the tight ponytail. He let out a scream that echoed in the near-empty mansion.

“No, no, no, no!” Anders panicked, the blood already rushing to his head. He couldn’t tell how far Fenris had him hoisted up, no more than a foot he guessed. Still, any height off the ground was more than he wanted. The pressure against his calves was already immense, he wondered how long just a chain and some rope could hold his body up. His arms flailed for anything nearby, his fingers grazing Fenris’ shoulders. He tried to dig his nails into him, to grab and pull, to do any amount of harm possible to him. “You fucking—what makes you think you can just—why!” He struggled to speak, every word made him feel more out of breath than usual. The blood rush in his head and the strain against his throat made it too difficult to speak. “Why did I think this would lead me, augh, lead me anywhere but trouble?”

Fenris laughed to himself, clearly enjoying watching Anders swing by his legs. He rubbed his chin as if studying a piece of art, eyes squinting into a warm smile.

“Don’t know. But you came anyhow.” Fenris moved closer to Anders, taking in the scene before him. His smile grew wider and wider. Hiding his nervousness had worked so far, Anders was too frightened and alarmed to notice how calculated and precise Fenris had been. Hiding his anxieties was the hardest part of this plan, yet it had gone flawlessly. Showing any sign of weakness to Anders would ruin him. He wanted to be strong, to be demanding, he wanted to be in charge of a mage for once. He wanted to have his way with him.

Fenris pressed his mouth to Anders’ bare thigh. Struggling, Anders swung his arms against Fenris’ back, screeching and yowling like a wet cat.

“What are you doing! What are you—what are you—“ He soon forgot the rest of his sentence as Fenris moved his mouth up Anders’ thighs, biting and sucking the flesh in wet mouthfulls. He left large purple marks where his kisses had been, his teeth dragging against skin. Fenris moaned, his hands starting to shake with fear. How long had he wanted Anders powerless like this, hanging at his every whim? How long had he hated himself for thinking of the mage, his cock betraying his morals? The power made his chest swell up. He bit a little too hard, Anders screech filled the mansion.

“You are so loud,” Fenris whispered into his thigh. “You can’t take pain like I thought you could.” He pressed his fingernails into Anders’ thighs, eliciting another gasp and scream. Drawing back his hand, he slapped the thick thighs, first his palm, then the back of his hand, interchanging.

Anders’ body swung as Fenris put his mouth across the tip of his hard cock. Fenris drew his head back, alarmed at how wet and sour Anders was. He didn’t know what he expected, if he was honest with himself. He nervously went deeper, letting all of Anders fill his mouth. The mage was barely coherent, his head was dizzy with blood, his senses disoriented and swimming.

With a whimper, Anders let go of his inhibitions. He dropped his arms to the side of his body and hung there, letting his body go limp against Fenris. All of him was filled with a powerful shame, he already knew that tomorrow he would sleep past noon and not answer to anyone that came calling for him. It didn’t feel like it with anyone else. With anyone else, sex was fast and fun. He was full of himself and proud during sex, the first to sweet talk and flip his partner over with fast hands. But this, it was different, he wanted to hide from view and shrink to something half his size.

Fenris moved his tongue across Anders cock, looking down at Anders red, splotchy face. His mouth was half open, he was panting like a dog in heat.  With loud sucks and laps of his tongue, Fenris moved his warm mouth down towards the end of Ander’s cock, gagging a bit on the length of it. He coughed and continued, his mouth half full of pre-cum.

Anders bit his lip and came in thick bursts. He tightened his eyes, though he could not see past the wrap around them. It was mostly a relief, it was over. Fenris spat a few times, hocking and sputtering onto the ground.

“Disgusting mage,” He chuckled. Anders didn’t respond. The pressure on his head was enormous, he felt the edges of his vision blurring. If he passed out like this, freely hung and swinging from Fenris’ ceiling, he didn’t know what would happen to him by the time he awoke.

If you ask at The Hanged Man what the deal with the name is, sometimes a patron will sass that it’s a sex move, a pose that not even the most experienced perform without some preparation. Anders used to wink and think of all the times he’d been tied up and done the tying, but it was always with his head above his feet, his wits above his manhood.

Fenris gave a tug on the chain and Anders hit the ground unceremoniously. He howled in pain and lay there, gathering his thoughts and rubbing his legs. Grabbing up at the cloth around his eyes, he yanked it off and studied. There it was, what he hadn’t hoped to see. Hawke’s sigil, as clear as ever.

Anders looked up at Fenris, he was already walking away, looking unfazed as if it was any other argument they had just had. He lifted a sleeve up and wiped his mouth.

“Are you going to untie me, or is that considered being too kind?” Anders spat at the elf, trying to regain the upper hand.

Fenris laughed, enjoying himself and the power he had.

“Hawke will be by to let you out, I imagine.” He looked back at Anders, memorizing the shocked gape of a mouth, and closed the door behind him. He would sleep well for the first time in a long time.


End file.
